The silence in the manor was so sharp it hurt.
Every breath in the room had gone shallow, as though the others were afraid that one wrong sound might break Alex completely.
His trembling fingers hovered over the cold iron handle, knuckles white, veins standing out against his pale skin. The air seemed to thrum around him, charged with something heavy, ancient, waiting.
Liam's voice was low, almost reverent. "Alex… you can do this."
Alex's heart hammered. He thought of his father, gone. He thought of Claire—her stolen face, her terrible smile, her screams echoing through his head. He thought of the city drowning in blood, people burning alive while she demanded his return. And then, he thought of Liam. The boy who was fire and shadow, who still believed in him when he barely believed in himself.
